


The Lion's Den

by infectedscrew



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 1920's AU, Anal Sex, Bodyguard!Keith, Crooner!Shiro, Gender Fluid!Pidge, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Overstimulation, Overuse of 20's Slang, Speak-Easies, The Galra are the Mob, Unrequited Lance/Shiro, Voice Kink, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 19:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: Prohibition is raging across America. WWI has just ended, leaving many scrambling for work and a bright future. When Keith lands a job at the infamous Lion’s Den he finds himself face to face with New York’s up-and-coming crooner, Shiro. As his small family grows, he’s going to fight tooth and nail to make sure they don’t lose house and home to the Feds or to the greedy Emperor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired entirely by the fact that I imagined Shiro singing Panic! At the Disco's "Death of a Bachelor". Also I have an unhealthy love for the 20's.

If Keith was an honest man, he would admit that the real reason he stopped just outside the door was because of the rich, heaven-sent voice echoing through it. Husky, deep and sounding exactly like a punch drunk angel, anyone with half a brain would’ve stopped to listen. He knew he had to go through that door but if he did there was a chance the singing would end. 

It should’ve been embarrassing to be half-crouched by the service door in a dirty alley in the middle of the afternoon. Anyone passing by the mouth of the alley would just have to glance inside to see him surrounded last night’s trash. Even if on the muggy, overcast day near the docks lower Manhattan in the middle of October, he would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb.

For anyone else, it would’ve been embarrassing.

Instead, he was secreted by the dingy threshold, hoping that if he position himself just right he would be able to glimpse the body, the throat that much such sounds.

It was a short-lived hope as a sharp voice by his left elbow spoke up.

“What the hell are you doin’?”

Keith jumped, whipping around with fists raised, prepare to fight. He’d expected a cop. One of the filthy paddy’s that breathed down his neck any time he dared leave his shit-hole of a home. What he got was the curious, slightly annoyed look of green eyes and pinched lips. The person, nearly a head shorter than himself was thin and pale, but wiry in a dangerous sort of way.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” The voice was tinged with New Jersey. It wasn’t grating, but it was nothing compared to the melodious noises still flowing behind him.

“No,” he gritted out.

Light brown eyebrows shot to a messy fringe, obviously waiting for Keith’s answer.

“Interview,” he finally said, unsticking his throat, “I’m here for an interview.”

Instantly, the annoyance disappeared and a shrewd, curious expression replaced it. Lifting a pale hand, they pushed their wire-rimmed glasses further up their nose. Very obviously looking him up and down, thin shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“We’re not really hiring dancer’s right now.”

Keith bristled, spine going straight. He knew how he looked with the angular, narrow eyes and round face of his father and his mother’s sharp nose. With smooth pale skin and a deceptively slender frame, he’d been asked more than once if he was ‘entertainment’.

“I’m not here to be a dancer,” he spit.

Confusion crossed their features before their eyes went wide. “You ain’t here to be one of the muscle are ya?”

Keith nodded, once. Belatedly, he realized the singing behind him had stopped.

“Well, shit, let’s get inside then. Allura will want to meet you. Name’s Pidge, by the way.”

“Pidge?” Keith repeated as he was all but shoved through the door.

“Yeah, like a carrier pigeon,” Pidge explained, without really explaining anything.

Keith’s face scrunched up as he considered the answer. Later it would hit him. Pidge was an information carrier. The kind of person who had a bite on everyone and would use it if pushed. One of the most dangerous kinds of people, if he had any opinion on the matter.

The creaking side door closed behind them with a heavy clang, leaving Keith trapped in a small alcove. He blinked owlishly in the dim, smoky light, taking in his surroundings. A narrow hallway branched off to his right, leading to the employee’s rooms and stairs going up to the offices. Another, much shorter hallway was tucked off to his left, most likely leading to bathrooms or extra private rooms.

The room beyond the alcove was elaborate and stunning. Even in the off-hours, it was decorated to the nines. Tables immaculately set and just waiting to serve hungry guests. Unlit candles and cascading flowers stood proudly as center pieces. Every inch of the room was lush and draped in dark, sensual colors. 

On the far wall, close to the entrance door, stood a heavy, cherry wood, bar. The glass door cabinets were empty save for expensive crystal goblets and artful decorations. Keith knew that if the right amount of money was passed over or the right words were whispered, a bottle or two of Kentucky’s best could easily be brought out. Russia’s clearest water could be poured without a bat of an eyelash.

Curving slightly, the rest of the space was built to focus on a massive stage. Made out of old, dark wood, it was an impressive structure. Lit by beautifully decorated can lights and edged in plush, red velvet, it was the stuff of dreams.

Currently standing at center stage, large hand wrapped around the throat of the standing mic was the owner of the gorgeous voice that made Keith stop in the first place.

“He’s like a baby grand,” Keith breathed.

Beside him Pidge snorted, although amusement was curling over their clever features.

It wasn’t an inaccurate description. Tall and broad shouldered with impossibly long legs, the man on the stage would’ve fit in at the Ritz. So distracted by the straining buttons attempting to keep the white dress shirt closed, Keith almost missed the fact that the man was missing his right arm. The empty sleeve had been carefully pinned up, as if trying to give as much dignity as possible to the missing piece.

“War vet,” Pidge whispered solemnly, following his gaze. Something hardened around their edges. “Damn Krauts took his arm and my...”

Whatever Pidge had lost, Keith didn’t find out. Instead Pidge had cleared their throat, straightening.

Keith’s lips parted briefly as if to answer but he couldn’t come up with anything. He’d missed the draft but just a month. His father had considered him lucky. Secretly, he did too.

“I meant… He’s just damn air tight,” he got out instead.

Pidge laughed. “He for sure is. You should see him up close, daddy-o,” they said, elbowing Keith. Before he could get out another response, Pidge stepped out of the alcove and onto the floor.

“Allura!”

A young woman, dressed in a sleek, pinstripe suit, turned at the shout. Serious, calculating expression eased into a bright smile as soon as she spotted Pidge.

Apparently, the lounge only employed the most stunning of humans. She was almost as tall as the man on the stage but where he was sharp, military created muscle, she was soft and curvy. Her skin was a smooth, tawny beige. Her eyes were large and a fierce blue. But her most stunning feature was her hair--it was a stark white, heavy mane with tight coils that bounced with every movement.

“Pidge, how’s my doll?” She asked, spreading her arms.

Pidge took the invitation, hurrying across the lounge hall and pressing into the welcoming embrace. “I brought a guest.”

Allura looked over at Keith curiously. She released Pidge, gesturing him over. “Is he the one Lance told us about?” She asked.

“You think I listen when Lance is smackin’ his gums?” Pidge complained, reluctantly moving away from Allura.

Lance was Keith’s reluctant roommate. They had found each other through a happenstance flyer. An elderly woman was looking for people to fill her house. It was an tight brownstone, tucked between a bakery and deli and only two streets away from Tin Pan Alley. She had two rooms available so she had happily given them one each when they applied. 

It had been an awkward living situation at first--between the quiet stillness of the woman’s house and bad introductions. Fully convinced that Keith was a wet blanket, Lance had stopped trying to set up a repartee by day three.

When he overheard Keith telling the landlady that he’d been taken off the factory lines, Lance had decided to bring him an opportunity. Mumbled over oatmeal one morning, he mentioned that his work was looking for someone to watch the doorways--a crier for when the police got a little too anxious and started sniffing around. An extra set of muscles to throw out the particularly bad Johns wouldn’t go amiss either.

“Start the next set, Shiro,” Allura told the man on the stage. “I need to hear your song for the Halloween event.”

So, the angel had a name. Not a bad one either. It seemed to match him. Keith glanced up at him, catching his interested gaze before quickly looking back to Allura.

There was a pause before the piano started to plink out the first few notes. It was much faster than the first song, haunting and almost manic. Shiro pulled in a sharp breath before breaking into the opening note. It echoed around the club, harsh and thrilling.

Shivers launched up Keith’s spine. He swallowed thickly.

It took a second for Keith to realize that Allura had asked him a question. Her brows were raised and her lips were slowly curling into a knowing look.

“Uh, what?” He answered intelligently.

The knowing look deepened. Allura had the decency to not move her gaze to Shiro. She would save Keith that at least.

“What is your name?” Allura repeated.

“Keith.”

There was a moment where it seemed that Allura expected him to continue, maybe add on a last name. When it didn’t come, she waved for him to follow her away from the stage.

Keith moved with her toward the empty bar.

No matter how far away from the stage he was, Shiro’s presence still seemed to press on his shoulders. He needed the job. At the very least to see, no rather, hear Shiro again.

“Right now, the only thing I need is a door check,” Allura told him. “Someone to protect my assets if they need it.”

“I can be that,” Keith told her.

Allura’s eyes started to narrow. She didn’t seem to believe him. “How do I know that?” She asked.

Keith licked his lips, casting about for the right answer. How could he possibly make about a dozen bar-brawls and one or two jail-worthy fights sound professional? He wasn’t a military man. There was nothing in his credentials that suggested he had a fighter’s edge. But years of clawing his way through independence and demanding respect stated that he was more than qualified.

“Look,” Allura started quietly. She leaned forward, into Keith’s space. “There are one or two people in this city who would like to see my Den closed. The bulls at precinct 65 are the least of my worries. I have the Emperor breathing down my neck. He’s a much bigger concern. Can you handle him?”

The title sent a chill into Keith’s stomach. 

The Emperor ran most of lower Manhattan. Having carved out a spot in Hell’s Kitchen, the man was creating a choke-hold over the burrow. He was single-handedly monopolising the unstable speak-easy market. Between his son attempting a takeover of Brooklyn’s underground and his ‘generals’ wreaking havoc everywhere else, it wouldn’t be long before all of New York City belonged to him.

“I won’t hesitate to break a man’s jaw,” he finally settled on.

Allura scrutinized him, eyes unreadable and lips thinning. She closed her eyes briefly   
and straightened with a nod.

“Be here tonight at six thirty,” she said. She fished a wad of cash out of her back pocket. “Find some better threads. I don’t need my door’s manned by a pauper.”

Keith flushed slightly, looking down at himself. His clothes weren’t in the best condition but it was really all he had. He’d finally gotten a pair of boots that didn’t need to have newspaper stuffed into the toes.

Allura shook the money at him. “Consider it an advance on your first check,” she said once he’d taken the simoleons from her hand.

Sheepishly, Keith shoved the money into his pocket, gaze down for an extra moment. Pidge was cheering at the stage, almost covering the piano. Shiro’s voice was ringing all round them. When he looked back up, Allura was smiling brightly at him. 

“Welcome to the Lion’s Den.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lance gaped at him. He had stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt when he spotted Keith in his mirror. Whirling on the spot, he pointed wildly at him.

“Where did you get those duds?” He demanded.

“Macy’s,” Keith answered simply.

Closing the short distance between them, Lance curled his hand in the collar of Keith’s new dress shirt and shook him. “You got the job, didn’t you?” He hissed at him.

Keith shoved him off. “Yes,” he retorted, fixing his shirt. He didn’t own an iron but he had the feeling Allura wouldn’t appreciate it if he showed up wrinkled.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lance accused.

“I just got home!”

Lance clicked his tongue, turning back to the mirror. He finished dressing himself with a flourish. He had always been a bit of a showman. A little taller than Keith, he was on the lanky side of the spectrum. His warm fawn skin was freckled and often burned from too much time in the sun. He spotted Keith staring at his back and winked a grey-blue eye at him.

“We’re going to be late McClain,” Keith complained, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to shift slightly when the stiff, starch shirt didn’t allow for much movement. He’d have to figure out how to fight in dress clothes. Although, he’d rather if he didn’t get blood on them.

“Oh, are we going together? Be still my heart,” Lance mocked.

Keith clicked his tongue.

“Just ring for a dimbox,” Lance said, plopping down on his small bed so he could tug on his shoes.

“You think I’ve got the money for a taxi?”

“Allura gave you money didn’t she?”

Keith snorted. “This shirt alone took almost all of that. We’re taking the jitney.”

“I hate those!” Lance whined and continued to whine about it even as he followed Keith out of the house and down the street to the corner. He paused his whining long enough to step onto the bus and pay the fare. Once they were sitting, he started back up again.

For the most part, Keith ignored him. His knee bounced as he thought about his first night of work.

The Lion’s Den was infamous in the city. Knowing for drawing in crowds and famous faces from all over, it was in the papers almost every other week. Everyone knew that Allura had taken over her father’s business and supplied a large portion of the city’s wealthy with an ample supply of bootleg wonders.

For the most part the police ignored her business. After all, quite a few of them were on the take. Every once in awhile a new officer or uppity chief wanted to step in. For a few days things would be in an uproar, then things would be smoothed over somehow.

There were rumors that either there was blackmailed involved or she had a hitman on her payroll. A whispered nickname of the Black Lion would filter through occasionally but no one had ever managed to discover if it was true or not. Personally, Keith didn’t think any of the rumors had any validity.

If he could managed to keep the job and everything worked out, Keith might find himself in a much better spot than he’d ever been. At the very least, he’d never have to return to his father’s dying farm in the middle of nowhere near a town that hated him.

“Hey, hello? Are the candles lit up there?” Lance needled, waving a hand in front of Keith’s face.

Keith jerked, glowering at him. “What.”

“You were gone over-seas, I needed to make sure you were still with me,” Lance answered with a shrug. “This is our stop.”

Lance had already pulled the call-cord, signaling the driver to stop. He’d gotten to his feet and it was clear he wasn’t about to wait for Keith.

The two of them pushed through the small crowd and hopped off the bus. Both of them coughing slightly when it rumbled off in a belch of smoke.

“Not that way,” Lance gasped out, catching Keith’s wrist when Keith started to move toward the front door of the club. “We go in through the back.”

Keith shook his hold off but followed Lance around the side of the building to the same door he’d been at earlier that day. It seemed much darker and more foreboding than it had then. But fall had set in hard over the city and the towering buildings cast long shadows.

After a quick knock, the door opened and Pidge’s head poked out. “You guys are early,” they said, pushing the door open further.

“Hey girlie,” Lance greeted. “Like the feathers. Good look on ya.”

Pidge grinned. Having changed out of the loose, soft clothes from before, they were now wearing a drop-waist green dress with black flats. Green, glittering feathers were tucked into, now combed, auburn hair.

“I felt like getting dolled up,” Pidge answered. “She tonight, if you please.”

Lance nodded. “Can do,” he said, patting the top of her head as he passed. “Hunk here yet?”

“Yeah, he got in a couple hours ago. He’s prepping for the mayor’s visit tonight,” Pidge explained, closing the door behind them.

“See you on the floor then.” Lance gave a jaunty wave and disappeared down the left hallway.

Keith could only imagine where he’d gone. Unsure of what to do with himself, he remained standing by the back door.

“Are you… Just going to stay there?” Pidge asked, eyeing him.

“Where am I supposed to go?” He asked, tone a little clipped.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Let me give you a quick tour before we open,” she said. In a brisk walk, she led him around the club.

The Den was much bigger than Keith originally thought.

Containing a grand total of four stories, it was a brilliant maze of illegal activity and fun. There was the main level with the stage and the biggest bar on the property. The employee rooms and storage were also tucked into the ground floor but they were cleverly hidden around corners and behind tapestries. The lower level had private banquet rooms, even more storage for barrels and wine casks. The second floor were Allura’s offices and where she conducted most of her official business. The top and final floor was entirely off-limits to the public. Allura’s private residence was located up there and very few people were ever allowed in.

There were also secret tunnels leading out in case of emergency but Keith wasn’t supposed to know about those, Pidge told him with an exaggerated wink.

It was a lot to take in all at once but Pidge reassured him that he would get the layout down quickly. He had to. It was going to be his job to make sure it was safe.

The last stop on the tour was the kitchen. Hidden behind the bar and with only one door leading in and out, it was stifling despite the cool fall air outside. There was a small staff clustered around counters and a massive cast iron stove.

Lance was leaning heavily against the back of, who Keith guessed was, Hunk. He was chattering loudly but Hunk didn’t seem to mind. In fact he continued working unhindered, occasionally snapping out a correction or two for the meal he was preparing.

“Hunk!” Pidge called, keeping away from the bubbling food.

Hunk lifted his head, golden ochre skin glistening with sweat. Thick, wavy hair was bunched up into a loose bun at the base of his neck. He looked a little frazzled but he beamed when he saw Pidge. Gently pushing Lance off, he moved over to greet them.

“Hello!” He started, drying off his hands with a dirty rag, which he threw over his thick shoulder. “You must be Keith. Allura was telling me about you. Are you hungry?”

“Me? Oh, no,” Keith replied, bewildered as the robust man took his hand and gave it a vigorous shake. He had a slight accent that Keith couldn’t place. It stretched out the vowels and lilted like British but not close enough.

“You sure? I have a bunch extra,” Hunk pressed on, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. He relented when Keith shook his head again. “All right. Well, you get one free dinner for every shift. When you get hungry, stop by.”

“If you don’t, I’ll eat it all,” Lance promised, already shoving something into his mouth.

“Oi, yeah, nah! You can’t eat that,” Hunk stated, rushing back over to the plate Lance was picking off of.

Pidge chuckled. “Come on,” she said quietly.

The sounds of the kitchen were cut off as the door closed behind them. The club was starting to come to life, waiters moved around lighting candles as the stage was set for the first performance of the night. Briefly Keith wondered if Shiro would sing again. Which was quickly followed by whether or not he’d actually be able to hear it.

“You’re starting on a right wicked night,” Pidge informed him, guiding him to the front door.

“Why?”

“The Mayor is visiting,” Pidge answered. “He’s deep in Allura’s pocket but he recently started going to the Witch’s Roost.”

For a second, Keith didn’t know what Pidge was talking about. Then again, he wasn’t a lounge-goer at the best of times.

“It’s the Emperor’s,” Pidge explained. “If he stops visiting here, there is a very good chance we’ll lose his favor and, therefore, his protection.”

Keith nodded in understanding. It explained why the kitchen was in a frenzy and Pidge’s clothes.

“Anyway, you’ll be hanging up here by the bar and door,” Pidge went on. She patted the polished top of the bar. “If things get bad or topsy, you’re going to be the guy to tear them out. Use teeth if you have to.”

Keith’s jaw tightened and he nodded in determination.

“It doesn’t normally get bad here,” Pidge said with a slight shrug. “Really, it’s just a precaution.”

“Are you… Allura’s right hand or something?” Keith asked after a slight pause.

The answering smile could’ve cut glass. A bearcat dressed in green and delicate features. “I’m whatever Allura wants me to be, any time she needs me to be,” she answered, salacious. “Cross me and you’ll never set foot in here again.”

“Understood.”

Silence dropped over the two. The pair of them shuffling their feet, suddenly unsure of what to do around each other.

“Look, Keith, we try to have fun here. This city is a whale’s ass on the best of days. We’re just here to get over the war like everyone else.”

Keith nodded slowly. He could understand wanting to escape reality more than anyone else. He had the feeling that more than one employee here had lost something important. He wasn’t about to be the one who ruined what little peace they could find.

Pidge reached up and squeeze his arm. “Get a wiggle on and throw back a shot or two. It’ll be a great night,” she told him.

Without another word, Pidge let go and headed across the hall. She disappeared down the right hallway. On her way to speak with Allura, no doubt.

Left behind and a little unsure, Keith could only stand by the front door. A man behind the bar, setting up a careful tower of champagne flutes eyed him curiously. Keith studiously ignored him. Not even when the man opened his mouth in warning.

Which meant that he was totally unprepared when the heavy, ornate front door swung forward and slammed into his back.

An undignified yelp escaped his throat and he stumbled.

“Oh! Are you okay?”

A warm hand curled around his upper arm, catching him from falling face first on the polished marbled floor.

“Uh…” Keith slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes going impossibly wide.

Clearly the voice matched the face.

Shiro was even better looking up close. Not even the sheepish, worried expression diminished it. If anything, it made it better. If the heat flooding Keith’s body had anything to say about it.


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out that, despite looking like he could break a tree in half, Shiro had less bite than an old porch dog. His personality completely betrayed his appearance. Even if he had showed up at the lounge looking like a paperboy who hocked on a dirty corner somewhere. Not even close to the sleek, cut singer from earlier.

Despite the high cheekbones, strong jaw and jagged scar cutting across his nose, he was more prone to worry than anger. The shaved sides of his head screamed military but the longer locks on his crown and the jet of white brushing his forehead warned of early stress and trauma. There were worry lines crinkling the corners of his deep set eyes. When he wasn't singing, his voice was just as smooth but vastly more expressive.

Shiro ended up following Keith around the lounge, convinced he had caused serious injury with the door--no matter how much Keith tried to convince him otherwise.

Frankly it was fraying Keith's nerves. He knew that if Shiro stuck around for too long he was bound to open his mouth and say exactly the wrong thing. The last thing he wanted was to scare Shiro off after their first meeting.

"I'm all right!" Keith stated for the tenth time. "You don't have to follow me around."

"I know," Shiro started slowly, sheepish. "Actually, I wanted to get to know the new guy but... After hitting you with a door, I thought you might be opposed."

Keith stared at him. The lopsided smile, the way he was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding his gaze. Shiro was a rube and a damn cute one at that.

"Just ask," Keith grit out.

"What?"

"Just ask to hang out."

Shiro lowered his hand, expression blank for a careful second then his smile brightened. "All right. After the show, would you like to share a drink?"

Keith nodded. He didn't think Shiro really knew the meaning behind sharing a drink. Or maybe he did and the innocent card was just how he liked to play it. Either way, it made Keith's blood run hot.

"Perfect." With that Shiro headed to the employee's rooms. He, after all, had to prepare for the mayor.

Keith was left to his swirling thoughts. Maybe stepping into a lion's den wasn't the smartest move he had ever made. Then again, it was turning out to be the most interesting.

It wasn't too long after that that Allura stepped into the lounge. She had transformed from the casual business woman she'd been earlier to an evening goddess. In a floor length black and gold evening gown that hung off of one shoulder, she stood proud and tall. Her hair had been relaxed and twisted into loose coils that were swept over one shoulder. She could own the city if she wanted to.

"Keith," she said, striding over to him.

On instinct, Keith straightened, quickly brushing a hand through his mop of hair.

Allura chuckled at the action. "You look fine. Now, the mayor will be here any minute. He will be bringing his wife and half a dozen city officials," she said, launching into the night's plan.

Officially, Keith was just going to be holding the door open for the mayor and his entourage. Unofficially, he was going to be keeping everyone else out--no matter how much money they tried to pass over. The lounge was the mayor's alone that night. If he didn't want anyone else there, then the lounge would be empty.

It sounded simple enough but Keith knew how high rollers worked, how hard it was tell the rich they couldn't have something.

Someone called out the time from back stage.

All at once everything was in motion. The lights dimmed, waiters found their spots, the first act was set up and waiting.

Allura shuffled Keith over to the door. She fixed his collar and frowned at his shoes for a moment. It must've been good enough because she stepped away and went to sit at, what must've been, the mayor's table.

"Ready?" Pidge whispered, taking a spot beside Keith. She would be checking the guests off a list.

"As I'll ever be."

Pidge took a deep breath and tugged the front door open.

A large, ruddy faced man with a straining waistband stood beaming at them. He had his arm wrapped tight around the waifish waist of his wife. She was a pinched, distressed looking woman. A small group of people were jostled behind them.

"Good evening," the man boomed, making Keith wince.

"Mayor Walker," Pidge greeted. She swept her arm out, allowing him inside.

The Mayor made his way in. The group followed him slowly. Keith did his best to commit their faces to memory. As they passed, Pidge whispered a tidbit or two in his ear but it was too much to keep up with.

Walker spotted Allura instantly and made a beeline right for her. She did not move to greet him. It was like watching a pig flirt with a lazy lion in the desert heat.

"My dear princess," Walker rasped. "I hope we are not putting your business out."

"Nonsense," Allura said, waving a hand. The gold jewelry caught the light and glittered brightly. "I am quite fortunate that I can afford to shut down my business for illustrious men like yourself."

"You are too right. I doubt anyone else would be able to do this just for me," Walker said, obviously pleased.

"No, I doubt they would," Allura agreed, an edge of a threatened promise behind her words. Her gaze slid briefly to a tall, gaunt man with bruise shadowed eyes standing to the mayor's left.

The obvious look was not lost on anyone in the group.

Keith squinted, catching the barest glimpse of ink on the man's neck. It seemed more like a brand than a willing tattoo.

"He's one of the generals," Pidge told him, voice hushed. "Some low level that the Emperor has following the mayor like a lapdog."

So, this night was just as much about saving Allura's business as it was destroying the Emperor's.

Pleasantries were exchanged and they finally settled into a decent start. The group was larger than Keith expected and they clustered around multiple tables. Few sat at the Mayor's table apart from Allura and a select choice of advisers. The first round of drinks and appetizers were brought out. The bartender, a tired looking man named Rolo, told him there was going to be so much booze flowing that night it could choke three bull elephants. Keith sincerely believed him.

Standing at the door, Keith had a good look over the floor and, therefore the stage. The city itself seemed to know that the Den was off limits and there wasn't much activity outside. Leaving Keith with the freedom to watch the shows.

The night started with a dance. A slender, cream skinned, blonde with large, intense dark blue eyes that seemed to flash purple in the light, took the stage. She introduced herself as Nyma and only a second later stepped into a dance that left little to the imagination.

It was an explosive beginning that locked the Mayor in the moment it started.

It was Vaudeville, plain and simple. Classier than some of the shows juice joints put up but still a collection of comedy, music, dancing and performances. Allura obviously cultivated the best entertainers that she could. Each one made it seem as if they were born to display themselves. There wasn't a single misstep or mistake.

The Mayor's enjoyment only increased with each act. Whether it was the alcohol, good food or the sheer talent presented to him, it was certainly a night to remember.

"Enjoying yourself?" Pidge asked, wandering up to him with a glass in each hand. One was pressed into Keith's palm.

Keith nodded, taking a very careful sip of the iced drink. Just beer. Nothing too strong.

"Who is the Charlie on the piano?" Keith asked, nodding at the stage.

Pidge lowered her glass so she could look around to the man. The last act had just finished up and were leaving. As of that moment, only one person remained behind. A lanky, almost bony man with fiery red hair and a mustache that wouldn't have looked out of place on an old British general had plopped himself down at the baby grand piano.

"That? That's Coran. Right whacked in the head but he's Allura's real right hand."

"Him? Really?"

"I mean, he can pluck out a fantastic tune."

Keith had to agree with that. So far, Coran had been preforming most of the music accompaniment. For an act or two he had been joined by a violinist but otherwise he had worked alone.

Any curiosity about the red head promptly died when the next act stepped onto the stage. Shiro had changed back into much more formal wear. In a tight, sharp cut pinstripe with a deep gold and purple kerchief that matched Allura's jewels, he dominated the stage with his presence alone. His hair had been slicked back, carefully oiled and artfully messy.

"Don't drool, sweetheart," Pidge teased.

Keith's jaw clicked closed. He crossed his arms over his chest, glass tapping against his bicep, and glowered at the front door. He could hear Pidge chuckle behind him but he refused to respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Shiro take center stage and curl his hand around the mic for the second time that day.

Belatedly he realized that Shiro must've been wearing a prosthetic. His right arm was stiff under the tailored sleeve and the, no doubt, wooden hand was covered by a black glove. To anyone who didn't know, it seemed as if he just had an unusual stiffness. He wasn't the kind of singer that moved a lot with his music, perhaps he didn't want to draw attention to the missing limb or he just didn't like to dance. Either way, it would've been very easy for someone to miss the important detail.

Slowly Coran started to play the piano. The music was deep, luxurious and sensual.

The group, which had started to chatter during the lull between acts, quieted. They seemed, at best, disinterested for the moment. In fact Walker leaned over to whisper in Allura's ear. Her lips curled in a smirk and she pointed back to the stage.

"Listen," she told him.

Shiro pulled in a soft breath. Letting it out in a hum, his lips parted and he launched into the song.

Keith was sinking into silk flowers and drinking chocolate. The voice echoed and rushed through him. It resonated through his nerves, making his hair stand up on the back of his neck. He wasn't the only one either. One by one the group fell into awe as they stared at the man on stage.

The words didn't even matter, as lustful as they were, it was all in the way Shiro's lips and tongue manipulated them into a bedroom sonata. A secret affair between him and each listener alone.

Ink-dark lashes cast shadows across his cheeks until his gaze flicked upward, catching Keith's enraptured stare.

Liquid fire dumped itself into Keith's gut and his hands tightened to the point of bruising over his arms. The stare was for him alone, he was so sure. Shiro's mouth seemed to curl into a smirk before the gaze cut down and away.

Even when the song slowed to a stop, it continued to ring in Keith's ears. He was barely aware of Pidge's snickering behind him. He watched as Shiro motioned for Allura to move up onto the stage with him, not truly registering it.

"Stare any harder and you'll go blind," Pidge quipped.

"Shut up," Keith muttered, shaking himself back to reality.

"You haven't even heard the best part."

"Which is?"

Pidge nodded back to the stage, "their duet."

The last and final act of the night was between Shiro and Allura. They stood, almost inappropriately, close to each other. Each had a hand on the mic. Their voices blended and melded as if they were meant to go together. Deep and mellowing, they were pulling the very soul of the New York sky into themselves and pushing it back out in a star-lit melody of sound.

The lounge seemed to shake with each note. The waiters, who had been bustling around for most of the dinner, paused to listen. Members of the kitchen staff, including Hunk, peeked out to watch and hear. The Mayor and his entourage sat entranced, some with their mouths hanging open.

Keith's belly clenched in jealousy. His chest twisted at the stunning beauty of the sound. He could never compete with that. Compete with Allura's beauty or their obvious harmony.

Yet even as he stood by the door, both singers cast their gaze across the room, searching for a specific desire. Beside him, Pidge seemed to brighten with electricity when Allura's eyes landed on her. She hummed and smiled, a flush crossing her cheeks.

For the second time that night Shiro's gaze found him. Amused and curious, it was a promise that Keith was going to follow to the very end. He would've kept his eyes locked on Shiro until the end of the song if it hadn't been for a loud, jarring knock on the door.

Surprised to a stop, every set of eyes turned to the door and, subsequently, Keith.

"Was anyone else supposed to be coming?" Keith asked Pidge out of the corner of his mouth.

Both of them flinched slightly when the same, heavy handed, knock came again.

"No," Pidge breathed.

There was another knock, more insistent that time.

"Open the door," Allura called to him, voice almost irritated.

Keith set his glass on the bar and moved his hand to curl around the cold metal handle. He pulled the door open. He came face to face with a massive, barrel chest and dress shirt that had to cost more than all the money he had earned in his entire life. Slowly, he dragged his gaze up to the face the chest belonged to.

A twisted, gnarled smile greeted him. It was the exact opposite of kind and matched the cool ice-chip eyes.

"Good evening, door boy," the man growled out a greeting, raspy with smoke and secrets.

"Zarkon," Pidge gasped.


End file.
